Want a crash course in the reality of motherhood? Head to Jane Upton’s panoramic and boundlessly imaginative, Bruntwood prize-shortlisted play. It zips through scenes from M’s life after the birth of her first child – an old school flame tells her he “expected more” from her; she bickers with her husband about not wanting sex anymore – but (the) Woman is much more than an ordered presentation of ideas. M (a gut-punching Lizzy Watts) is a writer, and what we’re watching is her attempt to create a play that captures motherhood with all its messy, unvarnished edges.
Angharad Jones’s production weaves M’s writing process into the action. The title of each scene is typed, deleted and rewritten across the back wall of the stage. There are glitches and line repetitions, as M’s artistic vision struggles into shape. In a boardroom scene, she meets two commissioners who agree she can write a play about motherhood – so long as it involves crime, a possessed baby and a few musical numbers.
It is metatheatre at its finest, with the play feeling as if it’s being written live. “Wait, am I in the play right now?” asks M’s friend, gazing out at the audience in recognition of the blurred line between performance and reality. Structurally, the play is an unpredictable explosion – just as motherhood is too.
Intimate revelations … Watts and Jamie-Rose Monk. Photograph: Charlie Flint
Upton blends uproarious humour with intimate revelations. On a special care maternity ward, M confesses she feels disconnected from her tiny newborn, covered in wires and fighting for his life. Elsewhere she compares herself to other parents, who serve their toddlers plates of steamed vegetables, and didn’t commute to London for meetings during pregnancy.
It’s a play that feels like a roar from a place of isolation. Although we never see M’s children, their presence engulfs her life. While she watches other people’s careers soar, she can’t help but fear she is missing out on opportunities. Each scene chips away at the myth that motherhood is supposed to come naturally and that mothers don’t ache for the people they were before. “I’m not the sort of woman who should be in a play,” M says. But Upton more than proves that hers are the kinds of complex, wonderfully considered stories that demand a place on stage.
(the) Woman is at the Park theatre, London, until 25 October
